Work Text:
Click.
Click.
Click.
Chosen's ears twitch with every sharp sound that reaches them, each jolt a notch further from sleep. The ambiance is nice otherwise--bed and pillows beneath their head comfortable, blanket underneath just as they like it, and room dark enough to not strain their acute eyes. But, the sound that disrupts silence...
S...nip.
They press their head back into the pillows, rolling their eyes.
And a little surprised, mildly pained huff to their right reminds them whose arm they just squashed.
"-Cho! Stop! Hahaha...." Dark's voice, playful as usual. Although, quieter. Probably because they weren't prepared to speak.
Chosen strains their neck a little to take the pressure off and allow the escape of Dark's left arm. An offer. The arm doesn't accept. Whatever... they let their head back down, hopeful Dark's learned their lesson. Chosen knows they haven't.
Sss....nip.
Sss, the sound of the nail-like claw of Dark's right thumb sliding underneath the respective index's, before it snaps out, the nip. Dark's fidget, one of many. And also probably the most annoying one they could've picked.
Chosen firmly pokes Dark's tail with the tip of theirs. Dark replies by extending the claw of their left middle finger against the back of Chosen's neck, pressing into it uncomfortably. Of course they'd understand, and of course, their first-order response would be an insult. This is going to take a little more effort to sort out, isn't it...
"Dark. Can't you figure out something else to do with your hands, or just... stop snapping your claws?" Chosen nonchalantly swats at Dark's hand beneath their head, trying to get them to retract their claw. "I'm actually trying to sleep here."
Dark would rather bend their clawed finger into Chosen's neck a little more. But, Chosen eventually manages to wry their own hand beneath their neck, and tugs on Dark's nail, forcing its sheathing. The ability to sheathe their claws is something Chosen doesn't have--although Chosen doesn't need it to keep theirs sharp.
"Hunmmm..." Dark whines with an over-exaggerated dejection, one Chosen is quite familiar with by now. "But I've gotta do something... my face mark is so uncomfortable right now!"
Right. The mission code. Only sated by Dark abusing their powers, but alas, their own home is a relatively inappropriate place to start throwing fireballs. Probably the only inappropriate place, in Dark's mind. It probably thinks that, if Dark is fighting and Chosen is near, Dark is fighting Chosen. Destroying Chosen. And that satisfies it. For a while.
Dark sits up, slouched to allow their hand to remain under Chosen's head. They scratch at the ring around their face like it's a mosquito bite, hesitantly, knowing that bothering it would only make things worse. But it feels nice to scratch.
"Actually, why don't we juuust..." Dark waves their right hand around in front of Chosen's still upward-facing head. Making little stop and start gestures, pointer finger and claw extended, like they're aiming powers. "...go and blow up some stuff?" They rest their right hand back at their side and raise their ears, straightening out the downward bend they often follow.
"Like, right now?" Chosen sounds bewildered. But they shouldn't be. It's not the first time Dark has asked to indulge their love of chaos at an inopportune moment.
"Yea!" Dark says at a higher pitch than their normal voice. Excited. Chosen turns their head to the right a little, and sure enough, Dark is looking down at them with that weird little smile they make. Squishing the lower portion of their face ring upward to somewhat resemble the expressions the common, face-bearing slugcats make when they're happy. It's... cute, especially when Chosen knows it's genuine--they can tell by the vertically-pointed posture of Dark's ears. "We can light up the night, together, your face ring burning like the eclipsed sun while," they wave their right hand in little circles next to their face, "I rain explosions down on our foes!"
They have a strange and funny eloquence when they're being playful. It's obvious they're goofing off, but the picture they paint--minus the blow up everything part--sounds quite nice to Chosen. They won't show it as much as they feel it, though.
"Okay, okay, fine." Chosen reciprocates Dark's cheery demeanor in pitch, and rolls to their left, releasing Dark's trapped arm. Even though Chosen's not sitting up completely straight, their height difference--Chosen's seven-foot five inches versus Dark's five-foot eight--shows. "But we need to go someplace easy. Fast. It's late and I'm too tired to be wrangling the two of us out of genuine danger."
Dark's ears twitch backward the tiniest bit, but they nod enthusiastically regardless. They'd take a compromise over a solid no.
Dark waves their left arm a couple times, both to return its circulation and to dispel the heat Chosen cooked onto it. Chosen burns like an oven, even when they're not using their powers, while Dark tends for the cooler end of the normal spectrum. It works out when Chosen feels too warm and Dark too cold.
Then, Dark hops out of the bed, and pulls Chosen out by the arm. Without wasting a second, Dark rushes through their house with Chosen in tow, and swings open the door. The charred grass beneath their feet knows all-too-well what the deep glowing of Chosen's perpetually scorched ring-shaped palm marks and the sparks from Dark's fingertips mean.
"Let's dance, Cho!"
Chosen blinks a few times, the words and sparks fading like they were underwater. Sinking. A memory.
The present moment greets them. Dark's betrayed face and waving arms in front of their broken machine, devised to sow a sort of terror Chosen no longer seeks to spread. No longer thinks should be spread.
Dark is waving at Chosen. Trying to gain their attention again--they spaced out.
"Hello?" Dark's voice and expression have a hint of desperation, which disappear as Chosen's ears perk back up. That familiar smile comes back to Dark's face, ears high once again.
"Ah, there you are! As I was saying..." They clasp their hands together.
"There's two ways I enjoy the company of other people: The first?
I like the taste of their blood in my mouth. Their limbs between my teeth. Simple, right? You understand..."
Dark's demeanor doesn't betray any horror at the things they've just said. But it doesn't surprise Chosen. Dark's always liked feasting upon the aftermath of their adventures together. They'd even share sometimes, the two indulging in the spoils, before Chosen grew sensible enough to decline.
"And the second?"
Dark's smile stays, but their ears fall. Maybe Dark doesn't know how well Chosen knows them. Forgot to keep that part of their facade intact.
"The way I like you, Choosy."
Chosen flinches at that name. Choosy.
"And you know, you know, I thought it'd be okay," They wave their hands around, like they're dispelling their own doubts. "...Those two ways. Coexisting! But maybe I was wrong."
The smile fades from their face momentarily, before Dark reassembles the entire expression, ears and all. They raise their right hand beside their head, claws extended, and press the claw of their index atop their thumb's.
Ss...nip
"Maybe there should just be the one, Cho. And I don't think I'll ever like anyone else the way I liked you."
